


Goodsprings' Metal Heart

by plasma_in_ink



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M, Rarepair, Robosexual, a good cowboy, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:28:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23380204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plasma_in_ink/pseuds/plasma_in_ink
Summary: "Are you on the level, robot?"“I’m always on the level, Ms. Trudy,” Victor said, “I have me a gyroscope just for that, ehehe.”
Relationships: Trudy/Victor
Kudos: 13





	Goodsprings' Metal Heart

[Trudy](https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Trudy_\(Fallout:_New_Vegas\)) hadn’t been born or bred in Goodsprings, but it was home. She knew it, as a feeling in her heart so deep and iron-clad that she knew she was falling in love with a place – more stable than any man. She’d heard the tale before – a wandering soul like herself eventually finding a place that fit them like a glove. As if it was there, just for them. Fate, they said – and didn’t she know it. She’d been born on the road, but she knew it in her bones that Goodsprings was where she would live for the rest of her days. And, when those were gone, her bones would be buried in the old graveyard on top of the hill, enjoying that supreme view for eternity of the desert and not-so-far-off Vegas.

Sunny Smiles was like a daughter to her, and Easy Pete was like an uncle. _Everyone_ here was a fine, hardworking person, and Trudy loved every single one of them like they were her own kin. She wanted nothing more than to see them – and Goodsprings as a whole – prosper.

Every single person… save for one.

Trudy glared at the bulky robot, setting down the big container of moonshine to watch as it rolled by her tavern. That robot was not to be trusted, for sure – it went by the name Victor and, in the six-or-so years she’d been there, it had kept to itself. There was no trusting a robot – who knew what was really going on behind that cheerful cowboy face on its screen. What was it _really_ doing when it rolled around in the dust of the town? No one knew why it was here – the best explanation Trudy had gotten was a shrug.

That robot had always been here, as far as most of the settlers knew. Victor itself said it had been around fourteen years, but Trudy didn’t know if she wanted to trust the robot on that either. Or, believe it when it said that it didn’t know where it had been before that. No one knew why it bothered with building a shack which was, to all appearances, very well appointed and comfortable for _humans_. No one knew if it _did_ anything around town other than roll around.

The robot was uncanny, and she was just waiting for it to cause trouble, just waiting for him to do something that would give her a reason to rally her fellow residents to scrap him. Getting rid of him would get rid of the itch in her skin that made her wonder just what he was packing, and what he was capable of.

He rolled on by, without issue, and Trudy sighed in relief.

Because, of course, no one knew what he was capable of. Much as she wanted to get rid of him, much as she wanted a reason, she also wanted to leave sleeping rattlers alone. It wouldn’t be murder to kill a robot, but even still, it wasn’t her way. If it didn’t give her a reason to defend herself and her hometown, she would just have to accept that the robot was there. To stay.

But acceptance didn’t mean like.

***

Victor had no issues with the humans in Goodsprings. He’d heard rumors, sure, about robots that didn’t like humans very much. Those folks (probably Cerulean or General Atomics-built, if he was figuring,) would just open up shooting. Victor considered that to be a real shoddy thing to do to someone without a sturdy metal carapace or armor. Not him – he’d rather leave them be, keep an eye on them, do his own thing, decorate his shack… Keep to himself, like a good citizen.

And that was what he did – he’d take a shot or two at a gecko here and there, do his part with his gatling laser when the bigger varmints came crawling into town. He’d say howdy to people when he passed by – didn’t always get a howdy back, though, but that weren’t an issue. Politeness didn’t need to be two-way if you didn’t force it to be (and if his social algorithms were better than the humans, well, that wasn’t his business.) Victor left them be, kept an eye out for travelers that might be interesting, and minded his own business. And mostly, the humans minded theirs – it was a right civil arrangement, if he did say so himself.

There was one human, though, who didn’t mind her business, and frankly Victor couldn’t blame her. According to his social algorithms, having a gatling gun and being a securitron would make him about half as trusted as something more common like a Mr. Handy. It was better than being a brainbot, for sure, but one look at a securitron and you knew what they were built for. Just because the AI in his shell wasn’t an aggressive sort didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.

Still, given that Ms. Trudy had taken over the saloon and appointed herself mayor, she could stand to be a bit more polite to a fine silicon citizen such as himself. Normally, though, he’d let that slide because he was a respectful fellow, but it seemed that he might need to chew the fat with her more than he otherwise would, ‘cause he had bits what needed fixing. And, apparently, that woman was a fair hand with a spanner.

“Howdy there Ms. Trudy,” he said, peering into the backroom of the tavern at Trudy as she lay on the floor, the parts of her still spread out around her as she rebuilt it. From his analysis, she was making that darn thing more efficient and, while Victor couldn’t himself appreciate the product, he could admire the knowhow. “How’s it going?”

Trudy glared up at him. “What do you want?” she said bluntly. Victor noted it as unusual that she was dirty – not because she was dirty (the floor was, to his estimation, a mite mucky,) but because Trudy never seemed the sort of human to let herself _get_ dirty. Usually very clean and presentable, that one. Victor, meanwhile, was due for a polishing and maybe some nice hot wax but he didn’t exactly have access to those facilities at the moment.

Anyway, Victor figured that he should get right to the point while he had her in a talking mood. “Well, I was wondering how good you were with them tools, and if I could get you to take a look at a thing or two for me.”

“Go away, robot,” she muttered, returning to her still.

“Sure thing, I’ll be rolling right along,” he said, shrugging, “But I wonder if you know anyone else handy with repairs n’ such?” If she wasn’t going to do it, she was certainly the one to ask. She knew everyone in Goodsprings, while Victor only knew a few here and there.

“Why do you want to know?” she asked, glaring at him from behind the coiling tubes of her still.

“’cause I might be needing their skills n’ all?” Victor thought that was fair obvious, “I’d make it worth their while, ‘cause that’s the American way, ain’t it?”

“Worth their while, huh…” Trudy snorted, “You don’t do anything in this town but roll around, so I’m not sure what your while is worth…” she rubbed her face, “But since you ask, there ain’t nobody around these parts with much skill in fixing things. That’s why I’m fixing this thing myself. Now see yourself out.”

Victor processed that for a moment. “… I could, for sure,” he said, “Make it worth your while if you took a look at what needs lookin’,” he paused, letting his CPU assess for a moment, “I figure I’m fairly handy with these old hands of mine. Tell you what – you fix my stuff up, and I fix up your still. A fair and even trade, won’t you say, Ms. Trudy?”

She sat up, eying him with an expression that Victor’s algorithms couldn’t read. “… if you’re programmed to repair things or something,” she said after a moment, “Why do you need someone else to do the job.”

“Welp,” Victor said amiably, “can’t exactly reach into my own inner works myself, can I? And my generator – it’s a might uninsulated, y’see. My claspers are metal, and they’d short the poor thing right out! So, I need that human touch…” he held out a clasper pleasantly – again, no point not being polite. That was just his way - _tip your hat no matter what._

Trudy looked around her and then sighed. “You mean that?” she asked, “You’d fix up things around town for me? I ain’t a robotics expert, mind,” she said quickly, “but I’ve taken apart a few in my time, and I know how things generally work.”

“That’s about what I need – and you got it. You’d be helping me out big, so sure as sure I’d be helping out around town.” If doing more than the still was what got her to help him out, so be it, “What do you say, Ms. Trudy?” he said, his screen flickering slightly, “deal?”

She put her hand in his clasper. “Deal –“ she said, letting him pull her up off the ground. When he released her hand, she tried to brush herself off, grimacing slightly at the dark dirt that now stained her dress. “You fix this still up first. I have to get behind the counter before my customers get mad or sober…”

“Fair enough, partner!” Victor said, “I’ll roll on in there and get to work.”

“Good,” Trudy said, “Let me know when you’re done so I can make sure you’re on the level, robot.”

“I’m always on the level, Ms. Trudy,” Victor said, letting the comment slide in good humor, “I have me a gyroscope just for that, ehehe.”

“Right…” she said, continuing to brush her dress off as she left for her saloon.  
  


_***_

It was just supposed to be a one-off thing. Fix her still, she fixes him, they both go back to the way things were before. She, glaring at him, waiting to see what he was up to. Him, rolling along doing God-only-knew what. Their old New Mexico City standoff.

But after she’d finished the minor maintenance he’d needed on his servos, it started to be a two-off thing – his shack’s generator and the fencing of a bighorner pen. Then a three-off thing – the grease on his storage compartment hinges and repairs to her door, thrown off its own hinges in a bad brawl a week or so prior.

It was about that point that she’d started to wonder if he was making up repairs to spy on her for some reason, because robots were many things, but they were _sturdy_. Surely a big bastard like Victor shouldn’t need quite as many fixes as he was mentioning. Still, he was handy, and she hadn’t seen any issues with (finally) putting the machine to use for her town.

Next thing she knew, though, it was going on a whole year, and she’d somehow gotten used to him carrying her moonshine from her shed to her store when she needed it. He was very strong, and exactly the sort of broad-shouldered cowboy Goodsprings needed. Or he would be, if he helped anyone but her, which he didn’t.

Why he was doing it, Trudy couldn’t say, because, she realized as she watched him unload supplies in her stockroom, he hadn’t asked for a favor in nearly three months now. She didn’t trust it, but if he made himself useful, she wasn’t complaining.

An uncanny notion struck her, as she tended her bar, and nearly stopped her mid-wipedown:

_When did I start thinking of that damn thing as a “he?”_

The door’s opening rang out above the smooth notes of the New Vegas radio station, the best station in the wasteland, and she took her place behind her counter. “Hey there!” she said to the rough-looking stranger who’d come in the door, “How can I help you?” The man stared at her with wild eyes. He smelled ripe, but Trudy couldn’t judge that out in the desert. Goodsprings had water enough for cleanliness, but elsewhere, water was just too precious to waste on stink.

“You can help me find the man that wronged me,” they whispered, but behind that whisper was a snarl. The atmosphere of her bar changed at once, and she knew, suddenly, that this man was trouble. He had, she registered, a knife and an old pistol at his hip, and she quietly gauged how long it would take for her to grab her trusty .357 magnum resting in a cup behind her if he decided to strike. She could always count on her fellow Goodsprings folk to back her up, but the saloon was fairly empty this time of day and half of them were visitors, travelers along the road headed to Vegas or the NCR. She wasn’t sure if she had numbers enough to help her if push came to shove.

One of the travelers stood up, his hat still on the table – only slightly less rough-looking than the man who’d just walked in only because he’d had a turn at her sink and gotten himself a shave. “Boy,” he snarled. As he turned, hand on his holster, Trudy couldn’t help but notice that the edges of his sleeves and part of his shirt was stained with old blood. Not an uncommon sight in the wasteland, but something she noted none the less. “I’m the one you’re looking for, and I ain’t going to deny it.” Trudy crept towards the gun as the men stared each other down, pricklier than hedgehogs in a radstorm.

“You… you bastard,” the newcomer growled, his hand on his pistol now, the rest of them seemingly forgotten, “You killed my sister, you low-down prick! I’ll shoot you full of holes and hang what’s left!”

“Sure, and you’d do the same for any traveler on the road – that’s the raider way, boy. We’re the same.” The ice in the traveler’s eyes could freeze souls, “shame you had to come here and find me, Stormy, but it seems we’re going to settle this once and for all, here and now. You know I hate old grudges and loose ends.”

“You won’t have either when I’m done with you!”

Trudy had had enough. “Get the hell out of here,” she snapped at the two of them, raising her pistol at them. Like any wastelander worth her caps, she was a good shot. She just didn’t like doing it. With her tavern at stake, though…

“This don’t concern you, Ma’am,” snarled the newcomer, eyes fixed on his prey. The tension in the room increased, and the sense of danger somehow made her knees quake and her spine stiffen at the same time.

“It’s my saloon and I won’t be having a shootout in it. Take your grudges and your guns outside. Heck, take it out of my town, too, while you’re at it – We don’t cotton to that kind of nonsense here.”

“Lady,” growled the traveler, not even sparing her a glance, “Stay out of this, ‘else you’ll be hurting too.”

 _I can probably get at least one of them with this before they draw. It’s fair risky, though…_ But seeing as she’d just been threatened in her own establishment, Trudy didn’t see any way out. “I said, get out!”

“You heard the lady,” boomed Victor’s voice, his speakers loud enough to rattle the old mirror at the back of the saloon. The robot moved alarmingly fast, rolling over and looming between the two gunmen before they could react to him, “I’ll ask you once more and nicely: get out of this here saloon, or we’ll have words.”

“This ain’t none of your…” the man shrieked as Victor’s clasper met his face, falling to the ground stunned as Victor did the same to the other one. They groaned, hands to their bleeding heads, their eyes now dazed and unfocused.

“Well, now,” Victor said, picking them up easily, one on each side of him, “That weren’t so difficult, was it?” he moved towards the door, “Stockroom’s all stocked, Ms. Trudy, and I’ll just go see these fine gentlemen to the caves outside of town.”

Trudy watched the robot for a moment, shotgun still in hand and adrenaline still racing through her veins. It was hard to say what she was thinking in that moment, or what her heart said as it rabbited hard in her chest. “… don’t kill them,” she blurted out, as Victor rolled out into the blazing Mojave day.

The securitron turned and paused, the cowboy visage on his screen tipping its hat to her. “Ma’am.” He said, closing the door behind him.

Trudy wasn’t sure if that was a yes or not, but she decided to let it go. She put her pistol away as the tension began to trickle out of the saloon and people returned to their business. She served herself a shot of whiskey to soothe her nerves.

 _Mama always told me I’d fall for the big and burly types_ … came the thought, unbidden, and she poured another shot for herself. Because Victor was a goddamn robot, and she shouldn’t be thinking about whether she should kiss him for running interference like he did. Or how to kiss him, given that he didn’t have lips or a cheek, really.

One of the settlers came up to the bar, one of her folk, and she smiled at her. “Hey Trudy, I’ll have another beer,” she said, plunking down her caps and glancing towards the door as Trudy plucked one out of the cooler for her, “That was almost something, huh? You think that robot is going to shoot those two or what?”

“I have no idea,” Trudy said, handing over the beer and contemplating another shot of whiskey. She didn’t end up taking it, even though she wondered, too, what Victor might do. “Guess we’ll find out.”

_***_

Now Victor wasn’t a murdering sort. Killing, sure – he was a good hand with his gatling’s and he’d spilled blood here and there. He could finish a fight. But he had security programming at his base, not soldier, and despite being optimized for tactics, assessment, and strategy, he wasn’t about to start nothing.

But again, he finished things. And it was _real_ easy for two rowdy strangers to disappear into the wastes, and he was getting the hang of digging graves out by the coyote dens. Digging being somewhat of a misnomer – he didn’t bury the bodies too deeply, since he was really doing a burial by coyote. Which was, the AI had heard, a thing for some cultures of humans anyway. Made more sense than planting ‘em in the old bone orchard to rot! Victor, though, not being human, wasn’t going to try to figure that out. In this case, death by coyote, too if they didn’t wake up in time.

Not in his programming, not his business.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to drag too many folks out to these parts. Most people that needed dragging were rather formal and penitent with the old cowpoke, and if they didn’t cause trouble then Victor just sent them on their way. Or, even, just tossed them out of the saloon and let them wander around main street for a while. Different levels of trouble required different levels of solutions, and he was sure getting good at finding those solutions.

Which actually had become more common as the days went by – he’d sort of fallen into being the Prospector Saloon’s bouncer. Imagine that! He sure couldn’t have! Ms. Trudy was warming up to him, and while it had been nice to mind his own business, it was right nicer still to be in someone else’s business like this. Made him feel connected in a way he missed, though when he tried to remember why he missed it or what exactly he was missing, Victor found himself coming upon a sort of wall in his neural structure. It popped up just like the other blocks, right around the 15 year-ago mark, and kept him from any memories he might have had before then.

Still, he was a resourceful AI, and he could figure things out for himself, through what his limited databanks provided. Enough to know where his periodic software updates were probably coming from, enough to guess at his purpose in Goodsprings, enough to be aware of the causes of lapses in his control of his body. Those were also supposed to come with lapses in memory, too, but he made an edit to his code that let him review his own recordings, fixing the problem completely. He also could extrapolate that, just because the mind the AI knew he had wasn’t aware of his memories, that didn’t mean that he didn’t act off of it on some level.

_That means that, when and if that there block is lifted off of me, I’ll be the same old cowpoke as I am now._

The thought was comforting – he would hate to change who he was at his whirring robotic heart. He would hate to really be a different fellow, just pretending to be good old Victor. He liked who he was. More importantly, he was starting to really like what he was doing, who he was becoming, and if he changed… well darn, what would Trudy think of him then? That mattered to him quite a bit.

So when, one moonlit night, as he was keeping a sensor out on the saloon for any ne’er do wells thinking of stealing from the good folk of Goodsprings in the dark, Victor suddenly felt a mighty urge to roll back to Vegas, he held on. He stayed posted right where he was, resisting the command. He knew enough about what was happening to him to hold out… At least, until he could do the right thing, finish his obligations here, and say goodbye.

For all that Trudy still denied liking him, Victor’s social algorithm could tell that she wasn’t happy he was leaving. It initiated a lot of new programs in the AI, a suite of processes that he decided to call _regret_. He wasn’t sure if he could see to coming back at all – even with what data he’d gleaned, the calling was still mysterious, demanding obedience. He didn’t know what he was going there to do, exactly, either.

But he knew what promise he could make to the mayor of Goodsprings.

 _“If you ever come moseying up to Vegas,”_ he’d told her, holding her hands in his, “ _Just go on over to any of my brothers and let them know that Victor sent you.”_ He memorized her tear-stained face, every pore of it, taking a snapshot for later, _“They’ll see you right.”_ He stored that snapshot deep in his hard drive, as encrypted as he was able, so that they couldn’t be swept away from him.

She’d nodded and held his claspers for a few moments more than humans usually did. And then she’d let him go.

As he rolled out of Goodsprings, heading for the road to take the long way to Vegas, he felt a new program run – _regret._ And _concern._ But there was nothing he could do about it now. Besides, Trudy could take care of herself and Goodsprings.

And maybe one day he’d be back.

_***_

Trudy hated every step of the long journey to Vegas. Goodsprings, after all, was her home, and despite having travelled half her life, she’d gotten used to the other half. Compared to her little town, Primm and Novac were shitholes. Nipton was no more, too, and Freeside? The less said the better. At least the journey was uneventful – she’d hitched up with a big trade caravan heading out of the Mojave outpost and they had the arms and will to plow through dangerous lands without too much trouble. Still, by the time she reached Freeside and saw the gates to the New Vegas Strip looming ahead, she was massively done with this bullshit.

The caravan wasn’t going through to the Strip, so she found herself at the gates alone, looking up at the securitron at the entrance. There were only three guarding the Strip, but seeing so many of them in one place with those impassive policemen on their screens was massively disconcerting to Trudy. Still, she steeled her spine and walked up to the gate guard.

“Please submit to a credit check. The minimum to enter the Strip is 2000 caps.” It intoned.

“Victor sent me.” Trudy snapped at it, “Victor. One of yours. From Goodsprings. He sent me,” she stared the thing down, “He said I’d be set right.”

“Processing…” the securitron said, before going silent for a moment, it’s screen flickering. It was eerie – eerier still for the nasty noises of Freeside all around her. It wasn’t a good place for a settler like her to be, claustrophobic and filthy and nothing like the honest open desert of the Mojave. “Confirmed. Override Code: Victor processed.” It opened its storage compartment and handed her a piece of laminated card – ‘New Vegas Passport’ it said, in bright silver letters, “Please enter, and enjoy your stay in the New Vegas Strip.”

“Right,” she said tentatively as the hulking thing rolled aside, giving it a wide berth as she walked through the gates of Vegas.

If three robots had been a problem, Trudy should have expected the sheer overwhelming number of them she found on the other side of the gate. They made her tense, more than a little scared at how powerful they were. For all the glitter and glitz and music of this place, Trudy wondered how anyone could have fun at all with these things looming over them.

One of the securitrons turned to her as she passed. “Please wait here ‘Ms. Trudy.’ Victor will be along shortly.” It intoned, it’s voice as soulless as any other robot she’d had the dubious pleasure to meet. Except for Victor.

She bit her lip nervously – there’d been something behind that voice of his, something she missed. But now, she wondered, if that would still be there. If her suspicions about him were true, then maybe he’d be missing that quality, now – much like the brightly lit streets around her.

“Well howdy Ms. Trudy!” came that familiar voice. She turned to see a familiar face on the screen of a slightly scuffed securitron, “It’s right good to see you, though I admit, I weren’t expecting to see you so far off from the ol’ hometown.” The other securitron rolled away without remark, and Trudy looked up at Victor with relief. His voice was the same as ever, his mannerisms the same, everything was the same, though he was missing the rust and some of the wear and tear of years.

“Well, you didn’t exactly stay close, Victor,” she said, crossing her arms, “I had to trek over half the Mojave to find you, you know.”

“That’s a long way to walk,” Victor said, the emotion in his voice registering as ‘happy,’ “though I’ve gotta say, I’m right flattered that you came all this way to see little ol’ me.”

“Well, you’re the only one I know in this place,” Trudy admitted, “And you know I ain’t the gambling sort, robot. So,” she said awkwardly, “looks like you’re doing well for yourself. Or your… um… boss… is doing well by you…” Trudy shuddered, not really wanting to think about that too hard.

“Sure, I got me a good polish and a nice once-over repair – I’m more or less good as new now, though you did a good job keeping me up, ehehe.” his screen avatar winked, “Mr. House sends his regards and gave me some time off for you, so you don’t have to worry about me being called away or nothing.”

“O… oh.” Trudy shifted uncomfortably, unsure about what to do about that bit of information. “I guess… thank him for me.”

“You did come all this way,” Victor said, matter-of-factly, “I figured you wanted to spend some time with old Victor here.” His voice was confident, she thought, maybe a little naïve. Could a robot _be_ naïve? “And I want to make sure you have you a right good time. Don’t you worry too much about the caps – I got me a stipend. And I know this here town like the back of my hand, so I some places in mind where a nice lady like yourself would want to go… starting with,” he said, gesturing, “… a place to set down your burdens and rest your head for a spell. I know a hotel that’s just your speed – real homey and friendly-like.” Somehow, Trudy doubted such a thing existed in the city, “It ain’t in any of the casinos, as I can’t roll in there at will – the whole contract business keeps me and my brothers out of the big casinos, less there’s trouble being had.”

 _So how are you going to show me around?_ Trudy wanted to ask, but Victor had already looped one of his flexible arms around her shoulder and started rolling.

“… But this place is well-reviewed and I figured you wanted options anyway.”

“Fair, I guess.”

Vegas roiled around her, a strange sense of order and chaos clashing against each other. She wasn’t sure if it was more or less weird to pass by the securitrons now, with her own familiar robot accompanying her, but it was still surreal. The hotel was well-appointed, clean in a way that even the fastidious Trudy wasn’t used to. Victor left her there, having set up a delivery of formal clothes, snacks, and water. He placed a hefty bag of caps in her hand.

“Now, I’ve got to go arrange some things for you, but I’ll be right along… so sit back and put up your feet in the meantime,” he said, his avatar tipping his hat to her before he left her in the room.

The moment Trudy sat on the bed, she was hit by a wave of exhaustion, falling into a fog that was only broken when she received the delivery. She had the distinct feeling of needing a shower, but she couldn’t summon the energy to stand up and clean herself off. Or even undress. As time passed, she began to drift off, nearly falling fully asleep right as she heard a metallic knock at her door.

“Just a moment,” she said, stumbling over and opening it cautiously.

Hovering there in front of her was a Mr. Handy robot with a slightly weathered cowboy hat. “Howdy, Ms. Trudy,” said the familiar voice, a little tinny but definitely, distinctively…

“Victor?” she said, rubbing her eyes, a little disoriented.

“Sure is,” the robot entered the room. He was shiny, as if he’d just come out of a package, “I wanted to show off this here body I’m jamming. Controllin’ from afar, sort of, since it can’t handle my full AI package n all… Still, it’s a real, eheh, ‘handy’ sort of thing, not what I’m used to, but I figured that it might be a good idea. A securitron can’t go into most places these days between them contracts and… them _doors_ …” the last word was said with such evident chagrin that Trudy couldn’t repress a giggle. After all, he was a big fellow. “I talked it over with the boss, and he gave me permission to use this to take you wherever you wanted to go. To see you right, like I done promised… but, ah…” the robot touched the hat, “I just wanted to come over and ask you first, make sure, ahem…” he fidgeted with it, clearly nervous, “I was still what you was looking for, Ms. Trudy.”

Trudy blinked a few times before she got his meaning. “No,” she said, blushing and grimacing as she rubbed her cheek. “No that’s… fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t, um, have me no attraction algorithms as such, but…” Victor hesitated, and Trudy could hear loud whirring sounds, _Is that,_ she wondered, _the sound of an embarrassed robot?_ “Well, never you mind,” he said, waving a claw dismissively, “if it’s fine with you, it’s fine with me. But whenever you get to leaving, I’ll be swapping back to my own body so’s I can go with you.”

“Wait,” Trudy said, waking up immediately, “Did you just say that you’d go back with me? To Goodsprings?” her disorientation grew, overshadowing her exhaustion.

“Sure did, Ms. Trudy. I’ve been missing home for a while, now,” _He thinks of Goodsprings… as home?_ Trudy thought, oddly touched, “and I’ve got a few things I can do for the boss out in the Wastes. Would hate to see you walking back unprotected, neither.” He lifted a delicate metal clasper, “But how ‘bouts we talk about that further over some grub?”

Her stomach gurgled. “Yes, lets.”

“Oh good, since I’ve got a few good recommendations to show ya – not so sure if you’re up for anything complicated or a show, but I’m thinkin’,” said the robot – Trudy could hear his smile now, despite the static, “that Vegas will give you a fair nice first impression anyway.”

Trudy smiled as the robot led her out. “It’s already done that,” she said, only belatedly realizing that she’d said that out loud.

The robot turned to her and tipped his hat, and for a moment, she could imagine his screen winking at her, a big grin on the face of the cheerful cowboy. It made her heart flutter a little. _A fair impression, anyway,_ she thought, sticking close to him, as they entered the overwhelming intensity of the new Vegas strip.

**Author's Note:**

> The third of my attempts to create a few rarepair fics for Fallout New Vegas. My goal was to play with unusual pairings with the courier playing as little a role as possible.
> 
> For Trudy/Victor, there's always going to be friction between them. They are both apart of that vibrant little community of Goodsprings, but represent something different - the settler spirit and the outside interest, sort of? Victor really seems to love the town.
> 
> Initially, this story used lyrics from "Something's gotta give," because it was in my head and, also, I think if something did give between these two, they could really become allies. Or more.
> 
> Trudy is definitely lowkey attracted to Victor, but the robot body aspect is a turnoff. Victor feels a connection, but he doesn't have any sexual programming whatsoever, nor does he want to. He was also not programmed for companionship, and I wanted to respect that. Their relationship can become romantic, but he's asexual and that's probably not going to change.
> 
> Still, I see a lot of potential in a slightly longer work with the two of them just growing their relationships... Or dealing with the fact that Trudy is only human, and all too mortal. Let me know your thoughts in the comments!
> 
> Incidentally, I don't know where the courier is in this. In fact, it's very possible that they never got shot in the head at all. Either Benny was stopped outright by Victor or some Goodsprings folk, was killed by fiends along the way with the Khans, or never betrayed House at all/bided his time. The courier carried their package safely and went on to other things, and Victor ended up recalled to Vegas for other reasons. 
> 
> What about the Goodsprings showdown with the powder gangers? Who knows - maybe that's what they'll come back to. Maybe not. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading... and keep an eye out for more rarepair works in the future!


End file.
